


I Don't Need Saving

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barts' Rooftop, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson/Mary baby, M/M, Season 4 Episode 1 Fix it - because it needed fixing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: Sherlock's left all alone again, he's not needed anymore. Or so he thought





	

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't know whether to love that episode or hate it so I fixed it anyway

Sherlock walked away from Molly's, unsure whether he should be upset or angry. Annoyingly, he missed Rosy, he missed John, he missed Mary. That psychologist wasn't helpful at all. It was his fault Mary had died, nothing she said would change that. John had every right to hate him.

He could think of only one place he could go. He climbed in a cab. "The Diogenes club, please."

He sat back and stared out of the window, not speaking to the cabbie who tried making conversation on numerous occasions.

"You can get out mate," the driver said eventually when they'd been sat in the club carpark for about 5 minutes without Sherlock moving.

"Yeah," he grumbled, throwing money between the seats and skulking off towards his brother's office.

"Mr. Holmes is busy," Anthea said from her desk, her phone wasn't in sight so she was glaring at Sherlock instead of her phone screen.

"It's important."

"He doesn't want to speak to you, Mr. Holmes. He has a lot to do."

Growling under his breath, Sherlock pushed around the desk and straight into Mycroft's office.

Tired and angry eyes looked up from where Mycroft's head was resting in his hands, his elbows perched on his desk.

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"John, he's er…"

"Pissed off with you? Yes, well, my apologies little brother, but so am I. I asked you if you were sure! If you were sure 'the English woman' was Lady Smallwood."

Sherlock ducked his head. "I got it wrong, but not by much. She should have known!"

"I asked you. I trusted you! And now I've got the mess of the government to clear up on my own because she decided she wanted a holiday! Or rather you decided. Now, if that's everything, Sherlock, leave."

The detective stared at the floor. "But, Mycroft-"

"Now, Sherlock! Before I have you removed."

The detective sighed, he hadn't expected that reunion, eventually he nodded. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

***

Several months later, several failed attempts at trying to talk to Mycroft and even more failed attempts of trying to see John and Rosy, Sherlock ended up in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. At least she didn't hate him.

"Mrs. Hudson, what do I do? How do I fix things? With John and with my brother."

"I'm sorry, dear, but I don't know."

"Will you talk to John for me?"

She shook her head sadly. "I've tried, Sherlock. Every time you're mentioned he leaves the room."

Sherlock sighed. "What about Rosy?"

"She's too young to understand anything," Mrs. Hudson stated the obvious. "She doesn't or rather can't hate anyone."

"That's not what I meant. I meant is she ok?" But he didn't bother listening to a reply. He deserved everyone hating him. Much like he had when he'd returned from destroying Moriarty's network and pretending to be dead for 2 years.

***

Sherlock sat on the edge of Barts' rooftop, his feet dangling as he stared at the floor. It seemed fitting, doing it here. The perfect place. But there'd be no note this time. There was no one to leave a note for.

He sat and watched as the sun came up, illuminating London in a way electricity couldn't manage. The thin layer of fog that had settled in was being swept away. He'd loved doing it as a child, watching the sun as it rose, Mycroft used to take him to their grandparents' estate, you could get onto the roof there. It's probably where his love of roofs had come from.

As the day began, people hurried around on the ground, ambulances disappeared off into the crowded streets, doctors rushed to their stations… he just watched.

He hadn't planned the exact time he would do it. He just knew he'd wanted to see the sunrise one last time. Then any time after that was suitable.

Blue flashing lights approached from the distance and Sherlock smiled to himself, ambulances always appeared out of nowhere. But when the lights got closer, he realised it wasn't an ambulance at all, but a police car. He found that even funnier, someone stealing from a hospital? What would be the point?"

But then Greg scrambled out of the first car and behind it was a black sedan. He sighed. For god sake, they likely thought he was running amok in the hospital, it wasn't like he could see Molly, she spent the majority of her time with John now.

Mycroft climbed from the sedan and looked straight up. "Bollocks. Gregory, he's on the roof!"

The DI's head snapped up and there he was, feet dangling, not a care in the world.

Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled his brother immediately.

They watched as Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, declined the call, and pushed it back inside.

On the second attempt, Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, but didn't bother declining the call, just threw his phone from the roof.

It landed the opposite side of he ambulance bay and could be heard shattering.

"I'm going up there," Mycroft said, if it was the only way he could talk to his brother, then so be it.

"No. No, from what you've told me, he won't want to speak to you. I'll go."

"What do I do?"

Greg sighed. "Phone John."

"And say what? The so called friend you want dead is about to be?!"

"We don't know what he's planning."

"I think that's obvious. My brother runs across rooftops for fun, he doesn't sit watching the world go by for no reason."

"Then I'll talk him down. Just get John here, it might help."

"Or it might push him over the edge completely!"

"Mycroft," Greg yelled. "Just do it!" With that he took off into the hospital, commandeering the first lift he came across.

"Hiya, Sherlock."

The DI approached the middle of the roof with anxiety.

"What do you want, Greg?" Sherlock asked quietly, using his name for once.

"To see you."

"Why? Another case is there? Ask my brother, you two seem to be getting cosy."

"It's not a case, Sherlock. Will you turn around? Come away from the edge?"

"Why?" He asked again. "I'm enjoying the view."

"Because that's not all you've got planned, is it?"

They continued talking casually for a long time before another car pulled up on the ground. The street had, by now, been cordoned off.

"If we get John on the phone, will you speak to him?"

Sherlock shook his head. "There's no point. He hates me. He has every right to."

"No. No, he doesn't hate you, Sherlock, he was angry. His wife died. She died in his arms. That's enough to push any decent man over the edge."

Sherlock pointedly looked away and Greg realised how badly he had worded that.

"That's not just it though Sherlock," he hurried to assure him "he wasn't just mad for himself but for Rosy, too. His little girl doesn't have mum anymore."

"And that's my fault."

Sherlock stood up, on the edge, but not looking down. It was the first time he had moved for hours.

'Bollocks' Greg growled internally. He was meant to be making this better, not worse.

"Sherlock, stop it, come away from the edge."

Greg's phone rang and he answered it immediately. "Look, Sherlock, it's for you. It's John."

The detective glanced over his shoulder, still on the edge of the roof. "Why would he phone for me?"

"Speak to him and find out," even as he said it, Greg silently wished the doctor was about to make this better, not worse, much like he was clearly failing to do.

"John?"

" _Sherlock, thank fuck. Are you alright? Why are you up there?_ " His tone did actually sound concerned, that was surprising.

"I was watching the sun come up."

" _Yeah. Then what were you going to do_?"

Sherlock knew that question has been rhetorical. "It's the right place for it, don't you think?"

" _Don't do this again, Sherlock, come down. We can talk_."

"You didn't want to talk before." He went to hang the phone up but John was speaking again, in a hurry now.

" _No no no, Sherlock. Don't hang up. Talk to me_."

"And say what, John? What could I possibly say to make things right? Mary dying was my fault. I can't live with that."

" _No, it wasn't your fault! You were a cocky prick, yes, but that doesn't make it your fault. I was wrong_."

Sherlock edged closer to the drop and looked down between his feet. It looked no different than it had the first time.

Behind him, Greg stepped closer. "Sherlock, mate, stop it, you're scaring me now."

" _Sherlock! Please don't do this. Not again. I can't bear to lose you like this again_."

"Why not, John?" He brought the phone back to his ear. "You've been living without me for months, what difference does it make if it's permanent?"

" _I was wrong. I can't live without you. Neither can Rosy. We need you_."

Sherlock shook his head, deciding for sure. "No you don't." He dropped the phone so it, like his, clattered to the floor in a scramble of pieces.

But before Sherlock could step over the edge or jump, Greg had lunged for him, pulled him back as roughy and quickly as he could and thrown him to the floor, cuffing him to a pole.

"Argh!" Sherlock yelled, thrashing in the cuffs holding him away from the edge. "Lestrade! What do you think you're doing?!"

Greg fell to a panting heap beside him. "Saving your life." He rested his head against a bar, mostly in relief.

"I didn't want it saving!"

Just as the DI was getting his breath back, John cannoned out of the block door and raced towards them, he grabbed Sherlock's coat collar and pulled their faces together. Then he wrapped his arms around him, hugging him like he should have done in that aquarium.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" He couldn't get his head around it, and the guilt was mounting fast.

Sherlock would have pulled away from the doctor's grip if he could, but the cuffs stopped that. John just held him tightly.

"Never ever do that again."

***

At the bottom of the building, Molly climbed from John's car, holding Rosy to her chest.

John rushed over to her and took the baby from the scientist's arms.

"Hello my beautiful girl." He kissed her on the forehead and held her tightly. "Uncle Sherlock's fine." He had always called him that to his daughter, but only when there had been no one around. He'd had no idea what he was doing, he had just known what he didn't want.

Sherlock had been grabbed by his brother as soon as he was in range. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?!" Mycroft snapped, staring into his eyes. He let him go and shook his head.

"How about, the few people in my life didn't want me in theirs?"

"Sherlock-"

"No! 5 months. 5 months and I couldn't do anything, I tried everything and nothing was good enough. For anyone. Now for some reason everyone cares, well I don't."

"Sherlock," John stepped away from the car, I truly am sorry. I got lost in my misery of losing Mary… I didn't think about anyone or anything else. I just focused on Rose. I'm sorry."

Sherlock pushed his hands into his pockets and walked in the opposite direction. "Whatever."

Mycroft grabbed his arm. "Not a chance are you walking away. You wanted to talk to John, so talk." He pushed his brother in the doctor's direction.

The doctor had been watching, but now he stepped forward, he needed to convince the detective, that was the only way this could work.

John held Rosy out in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock froze, looking down at her. She looked just like Mary, blinking up at him.

"Take her."

Cautiously, Sherlock held his hands out and gathered up the 5 month old. She was sucking on a dummy and held the rattle he had given her all those months ago. He was caught off guard by that, he'd expected John to bin it.

John could see what he was thinking. "She loves that thing. Won't let it go. Ever. Please, Sherlock. Come back to mine. Spend some time with Rosy. She can nearly sit up and everything. We can try again, it can work."

"No. It can't."

"I honestly don't blame you, Sherlock, she always knew her past would catch her up."

The younger man looked into his eyes and saw truth there for once.

It would be difficult, Mary's loss still meant a lot, but maybe together it would be alright. Sherlock nodded and held Rosy tighter. "Ok."


End file.
